


The Pain of Wanting Too Much

by JailynnW



Series: Beauty in The Pain [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Episode 4, F/M, Friendship, POV Brienne of Tarth, Post-Episode: s08e04 The Last of the Starks, Sadness, Season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 13:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18740452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JailynnW/pseuds/JailynnW
Summary: She wants to hide in her room. She wants to hug this boy, who turned into a wonderful man right before her eyes. She wants so many things. Brienne knows the pain from wanting too much.





	The Pain of Wanting Too Much

**The Pain of Wanting too Much**

 

The sun begins to set as she sneaks out the main hall, quickly and quietly making her way from the towers and the people that barely notice the tall woman in their home. Her life since Jaime left has been filled with questions. Questions and endless time to reflect on what an absolute idiot she made of herself that night. Minutes pass into hours, hours into days, days into nothing. It's all the same as it was. It is all so different.

Winterfell stays quiet, with only the sounds of horses and children breaking up the silent work. It's gray walls grounding her, blurring in front of her face, making it easier for her to pretend that all that happened had been a nightmare wrapped up in Lannister red. Bright like the blood that stained her sheets after he fucked her.

Red never did suit her. The color washes her out. Makes her dull hair, duller and her freckles more pronounced. No red didn't suit her. It isn't her color... it's _his_. It's _theirs_. 

Maybe that's why she never felt right in King's Landing. Red was every where. In the bricks on the streets and the walls. In the clothes, and the blushes of sweet innocent maidens. She had never felt welcome there, but here among Northern folk she could blend in and become invisible. The dark clothes and slate stone. It is better and more suited to her. The color was muted and bland. 

_Like me,_ the thought tickles in the back of her mind. Sounding like her septa. Sounding like all those boys that taunted and mocked. That made her question herself, made doubt her worth. Sounding like Cersei.

Brienne pauses in her walk, looks around and sighs. Her hair blows gently into her face. She doesn't bother brushing it back. She wonders briefly what they would say now. Now that Brienne the beauty wasn't the maid of Tarth any longer. Now that the one man she trusted left her crying in her house coat, alone in the dark. 

A bitter rock settles in her stomach. 

_'They would laugh,'_ that cruel serpentine voice says with certainty. _'They would enjoy your pain and think it was all you deserved. The beast that dared to dream for a moment. That dared to believe that someone as gorgeous and godlike as Jaime Lannister could love you. Could want you. What a joke.'_

 _'He did want me,'_ she argues back, her voice sounding so childlike, even in her head against this coiled viper of doubt in her mind. _'He came to me. He wanted me.'_

The laugh that answers back haunts her. 

She shivers. Holding her cloak tighter around her shoulders. She hopes she can block the chill, but it's impossible to when it's not from the wind but from her own pain. Brienne's hand drops to Oathkeeper on her hip. It's golden lion hilt feels like a comfort and curse. Why did she let herself hope?

Hope isn't for people like her. Hope is for the pretty and meek. It's for the stories and songs. It's never been for her.

Neither is beauty. 

She fights with the tears that clog her throat. She's cried too many of them lately. Swallowed even more.

Jaime is beautiful. He isn't for her either. He will always be for Cersei. His golden twin. His twisted mirror image. 

Brienne tries not to be bitter and angry over him leaving. It does nothing and changes even less. It's over. It never really began. A whisper in the wind. Sweet and so perfect and gone before she could enjoy it.

Snow falls around her as she begins walking again. Her feet, like her mind, having no destination. Crows caw over her head, rustling the branches of the trees. The only other sounds now. She's far enough away from the castle and face to face with the Godswood tree. The somber face stares at her. Reads her soul. 

She wonders what it sees. She wonders if it might find something worthy in her. She drops to a stump and bows her head. Brienne doesn't know the prayers of the old Gods. She feels like she's lost touch with the ones for the seven most days. The Gods she prayed to as a child feeling more and more distant as time wears on her. But she doesn't feel right not at least trying.

This place has a magical essence about it. Like maybe here someone might listen. Maybe someone hears the words she doesn't know how to say out loud. The ones that she only acknowledges to herself while in the dark of her room.

 _'Protect him,'_ she pleads. _'Guard him. If he has to be with her, take care of them both.'_ Now tears do fall, foolish ones from a foolish woman. _'Please let him be happy.'_

“Even if I can't,” she says out loud. Her voice small but sounding large in the stillness. The crunching of snow under foot makes her shoot up from where she was seating. Wiping at the cool water on her cheeks, blinking the rest back. 

“Ser Brienne,” Pod hesitatingly calls out to her back. “Lady Sansa has news from King's Landing.”

Brienne nods, turning to face her squire. “Good news?”

“She did not say,” his brown eyes are soft with worry. “She did ask me to get you though.”

“Then we better not keep her waiting,” Brienne stiffens her back, brushing all her earlier sorrowfulness back. She'll return to it again when she's alone. “Come Pod.” He stays where he is and watches her. She tries not to sway under the weight of his gaze, instead levels her eyes back at him in challenge. “Do you have something you would like to say?”

He opens his mouth, takes a breath and stops. Whatever he was going to verbalize dying on his tongue. He shakes his head. She looks down at the ground and nods again. The walk back to the castle is tense with unsaid words, until finally just outside the walls of Winterfell, he breaks.

“He shouldn't have left like that,” the words a rush. Brienne stops and turns to him. Her squire shakes and stares into her eyes. “He should have stayed.”

She wants to cry all over again. She wants to hide in her room. She wants to hug this boy, who turned into a wonderful man right before her eyes. She wants so many things. Brienne knows the pain from wanting too much.

“Maybe,” she measures her words. “But he made his choice. As we all have.”

“The wrong choice,” he bites out in some misguided show of protection for her and her battered heart.

A warmth starts to ward off the chill that's still in her bones at his tone, at his words. 

“Wrong or right,” she shrugs helplessly. “It's his to make.” She takes in a deep breath, the unbearable cold air causing her lungs to hurt. Brienne blows it back out slowly, “Jaime was never mine. Not really Pod. He was always Cersei's. He never lied to me about that. I just let myself forget.”

The man before her narrowed his eyes, “Why are you giving up?”

“How can I give up when I was never in the tournament to begin with,” her blood starts heating. 

“He loves you,” Pod looks away then back, as if he can't figure out which side he is on. Does he want her to believe? Does he want her to face the truth? Does _he_ want to believe in what he thought he saw in Jaime's eyes? Those confusing thoughts that hunted her wherever she was, reflecting back at her in his eyes. “He acted like he loved you.”

“Maybe he did,” she whispers so softly she hopes he can't hear her, “Maybe he tried. Maybe it was all...” she lets the rest disappear. She doesn't know what she was trying to say anyway. Closing her eyes she forces her thoughts back to the reason they were standing in the cold, “Lady Sansa is waiting. We should see what news King's Landing has for us.”

Pod looks like he is about to argue then thinks better of it. Nodding his head he follows Brienne into the castle now lit by torches as the sun finishes it's descent. They walk purposefully through the corridors, passing only the odd servant milling around. Most have made their ways into chambers or into brothels by now. The cold and the memories of the long night still reaching out to get them in the dark. 

The lady of Winterfell paces in the great hall, close to the large hearth. Her long auburn hair falls upon her shoulders as she taps a scroll against her finger tips. Her lips are pursed in thought.

“My lady,” Brienne calls out, “you wished to see me?”

Sansa turns to her. Her pale face taunt with worry, “Jon has sent word.” Brienne waits. Her heart hammering. Her stomach twisting. “Daenerys is dead.” 

Brienne feels her knees weaken. Cersei won. Jaime protected her. He can get his happy ending now. 

“Oh,” Brienne looks down. “I'm sorry for your brother, Lady Sansa. It's a horrible thing to see someone you love die before you.”

“Yes,” Sansa breathes, “it is.” The moment hangs there. A heaviness floods the room. She shakes off the sadness and pushes ahead. “That's not all he has to say.” Her friend pauses again then walks over to her. The red head takes Brienne's hands in hers, squeezing them. “Cersei is dead too.” 

Brienne swallows hard, “Jon?” Sansa shakes her head. “I don't...”

“Ser Jaime,” Sansa answers. Pod stiffens at her side. Her next words are spoken with care but were also said with cold truth, “He slayed his queen.”

 _Kingslayer,_ Brienne feels hot and cold all at once. _Queenslayer, kinslayer._

She needs to sit, she feels too restless to try. “Is he...”

“He lives,” Sansa tilts her head, takes in the tall woman's appearance. “And I don't think he will die at the hands of Jon or any others. I don't know the details, but Jon has led me to believe that Jaime acted in the best interests of King's Landing.”

“He always has,” Brienne's skin feels too tight for her body. She steps back from her lady, needing desperately to put space between them. “I,” She closes her mouth, unsure of her words or thoughts. “May I be excused, my lady? I'm not feeling well and would like to lay down.”

Sansa looks over her, her clear blue eyes cloud with an emotion Brienne doesn't want to examine then nods, “I hope you feel better, Ser Brienne.”

Brienne's nod is stiff and she rushes from the room. Her stomach lurches and she runs the rest of the way to her chambers. Pushing against the door and closing it swiftly behind her, she slips to the floor, pulling her knees close to her chest and rests her forehead against them. 

She has no concept of time as she tries to settle her heart and mind. She just knows her back aches and her ass is cold from the stone and her thoughts are floating in and out of her brain and she can't think and is thinking too much. She knows that tomorrow will be different and tomorrow will be the same. 

She looks up at the bed they shared and a single tear crawls over the swell of her cheek. Brienne gets up off the floor, falling to the bed and gathers the pillow he used those few nights he stayed with her. The scent was fading but if she tries hard enough...

If she lets herself imagine...

Her eyelids fall and her dreams are of gray walls and a man standing in a colorless room wearing red.

Lannister red...

And a baby cries out.

**Author's Note:**

> Ohh boy and now I remember why I stopped writing. So I'm pretty sure this is crap, but I kinda wanted to play in Brienne's mind and I'm sure I screwed up. She is such a complicated character and I hope I did her justice. Please let me know. Thank you for reading!!


End file.
